


vengeful angel

by jhoom



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Feral Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, medieval era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25986673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: On one of their first missions together, Andromache and Quynh learn the hard way what happens when someone hurts Yusuf.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 87
Kudos: 1146
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	vengeful angel

**Author's Note:**

> another [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) bingo card fill. today the prompt is: "shot with an arrow"
> 
> come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) where i'm taking prompts for [my current bingo card](https://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/626343042674294785/jhoomwrites-here-is-your-new-card-for-bad-things).

Yusuf looks out from the trees, eyeing the castle skeptically. The walls are not all that high, but he already counts ten archers patrolling the length of it. The gates aren’t thick either, but with just the four of them, a battering ram would be useless. There’s also a camp of soldiers outside the walls, men paid to protect the monsters within but not worthy of the walls’ protection. No moat, at least, so that works in their favor. 

Nicolo settles next to him. He kneels and squints at the castle, likely taking in everything Yusuf already has and making a similar assessment. 

“We’ll have to climb the walls,” Andromache mutters. She doesn’t sound happy about it. 

“We could just give up. These men aren’t so bad, are they? Just rapists and murderers.” Quynh says it without a hint of teasing, and Yusuf almost laughs when Nicolo cocks an eyebrow at her. 

“Funny,” Andromache says. “You should be careful. The boys are new, they don’t know when you’re joking.” 

“You are new,” Nicolo counters. “I was born a hundred miles from here. Where are you from again?” 

Andromache laughs. “Not Italy,” she admits. “As I was saying, we’ll have to climb the walls. You two any good at scaling walls?” 

Yusuf shrugs. “We have some experience.” 

He does not admit that the last time he climbed a wall, it was to sneak into Nicolo’s room and slit his throat in his sleep. He suspects Nicolo remembers, though, if the unimpressed look he gives Yusuf is any indication. 

“Some,” Nicolo agrees. 

Yusuf’s not sure he’s ever seen Nicolo climb a wall; he makes a note to ask him about it later and to tease him mercilessly if he lied. 

“How many soldiers outside?” Andromache asks. 

“They keep moving in and out of their tents,” Quynh says. She uses a spyglass to get a better look, then hands it to Yusuf when he motions for it. “At least thirty. No more than fifty.” 

He sees nothing to contradict her estimate. When he’s done, he hands the spyglass back to her and nods his agreement to Nicolo. 

Quynh sees the exchange and rolls her eyes. It is not that Nicolo or Yusuf do not trust her judgement—everything they’ve seen of these two women shows they are quite skilled at everything they do—it is more that they do not _know_ them. It took Nicolo and Yusuf so long to get where they are, where they could understand and trust each other, and they have not yet developed such kinship with the newcomers. 

They might be like them, immortal vengeful spirits here to protect those in need, but they are still strangers. 

It will take time to settle into things. 

“We attack at dawn,” Andromache says. “Get some sleep, we’ve got our work cut out for us. I’ll take first watch.” 

Quynh goes with her back into the trees, an arm slung around her shoulder in the easy familiarity of lovers. Yusuf briefly wonders if that’s what he and Nicolo look like. 

“She’s right,” Nicolo says. “We should sleep.” 

Now alone, Yusuf pulls Nicolo in for a kiss. He remembers a time when Nicolo would blush and protest such affection, no matter how much he secretly craved it. Now Nicolo comes easily and returns the embrace without a second thought. 

“I can think of other ways to spend the night,” Yusuf teases. 

Nicolo huffs a laugh. “I’m sure you can, amati. Not tonight, though. We’ve traveled far and you fight sloppy when you’re tired.” 

“I do not,” he says with faux indignation. Nicolo raises an eyebrow. “So maybe I do. It’s not that it matters.”

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt.” His eyes are big and pleading, so beautiful that Yusuf wishes he could drown in them. He has, in a way. How many times did Nicolo cut him down while he got lost in those blue depths? “I don’t care that you get better. It wounds me to see you wounded.” 

“If you are so worried that I rest, then put me to sleep. I’m yours to shape as you will, hayati.” 

“You’re incorrigible.” He stands then, an indulgent look on his face when he offers Yusuf his hand. “Let us go, then. I will tire you out, but you will have to not die tomorrow.” 

“I promise,” Yusuf agrees solemnly. He accepts Nicolo’s hand, twining their fingers together and leading him to their camp and their waiting bedrolls. 

~ ~ ~

It’s slow work, making progress. The men are reasonably well trained, thickly armored, and there are so _many_ of them. It reminds Yusuf vaguely of Jerusalem, though he much prefers fighting with Nicolo at his side. They make steady progress towards the wall, especially with Andromache and Quynh with them. An attack that might take Nicolo and Yusuf all day will take but a few hours with the two women, as deadly as they are. 

He very much likes that they’ve found each other. 

A man screams as he attacks Yusuf. There is fear in his eyes, and Yusuf almost regrets running him through with his blade. Almost; the battlefield is no place for remorse. That is why they try to be so careful about _which_ battles they fight, _which_ enemies they take apart. 

He wipes sweat from his brow, taking a moment to catch his breath. He does not look forward to climbing the wall. Castle walls mean rocks and arrows being thrown at him, maybe hot water or oil if they’re particularly unlucky. He is tired already, his energy draining from the sheer number of people he’s had to fight, faster than he can recover. 

Perhaps he should have rested more last night; Nicolo will be both pleased and annoyed to know he was right. 

The thought comes and goes, lost in the rhythm of battle. Another man attacks him, then another. A third attempts it, but Nicolo is faster, decapitating him with a heavy swing of his longsword. 

“I’ve gotten twelve so far,” Nicolo says. “You?” 

“I need to count them?” Yusuf curses under his breath. “You tell me this now, habibi? You cheat.” 

Nicolo smiles and runs off after his next victim, leaving Yusuf to work his way closer to the wall all while trying to count how many of the mercenaries he’s already killed. Perhaps it is the game of it that makes him careless. 

The arrow pierces his chest and he sighs in annoyance before the air is gone and he cannot sigh at all. Through his heart, he thinks. He’s broken his promise. 

Blood gurgles from his chest and drips from his mouth. He falls to one knee, and then both. He clutches at the arrow, wondering if he should take it out. It’ll kill him faster, but maybe that would help. Speed up the death to speed up his recovery, something like that. 

His hands are tacky with blood, he can’t get a grip on the shaft well enough to break it and work it free. In the desperate last moments as the life drains out of him, he jerks it back and forth. It only hurts him more. 

There are hands on him, guiding him down. The arrow is gone now. Too late to do much good. The hands are back, cradling his tightly and pressing the wound on his chest for all the good it’ll do. Nicolo’s eyes are there, and Yusuf aches with the pain he sees there. He wants to reach up, he wants to say it will be okay, it will be only a few moments. 

As the life drains out of him, he smiles; it is much better to die in Nicolo’s arms than at his hands… 

He jolts awake with a gasp. 

There is always confusion when he comes back. It is like being forced out of the deepest slumber; the memories are there, but sometimes it’s hard to piece them together at first. He died, obviously, but how?

His hand goes to his chest automatically. There is no wound, there never is after, but the memory of it still stings. He looks around for Nicolo. Nicolo is always there when he comes back, if possible; Nicolo was there in his last moments, he remembers that clearly now, he should be close— 

When he sits up, he finds he is alone. Andromache is the closest to him, sitting on a pile of bodies while she cleans her nails with a knife. She looks equal parts bored and amused. 

Oh no. 

“Nicolo?” he asks hesitantly. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” She puts away her knife and reclaims her axe. She offers her arm to him; he declines it and gets up on his own. “He told me to wait for you. Didn’t want you to wake up alone, the sap.” 

“Where is he?” He almost doesn’t want to know. Already _does_ know, because there are few things that would keep Nicolo away while Yusuf’s body is remaking itself. 

“He went up the wall. He’s quick, that one.” 

“You let him go by himself—!?” 

“Oh, hush. He’s fine. He was halfway up before we even noticed, anyway. Quynh went after him, but he’s been going on a little murder spree on his own.” 

There’s a blood-curdling shriek from the walls, and they both turn to look. Quynh is just reaching the top of the wall, but Nicolo is already some fifty feet away from the rope. Even from this distance, Yusuf can see that his armor is covered in blood and entrails. 

Yusuf sighs in resignation. “He gets like that.” 

“When you die?” Andromache says. They start walking to the wall. A man reaches blindly for her boot as they pass; she steps on it and puts him out of his misery with her axe. 

“When I die,” Yusuf agrees. “He has a lot of heart.” 

“No need to explain. I’m the same when it’s Quynh. Never fun to see someone you love die, no matter how many times you’ve seen it and no matter how many times they get back up.” 

He is not used to discussing his and Nicolo’s relationship openly. They barely address it with each other, aside from whispered confessions in the dead of night. It is not permitted for men such as them to love each other as deeply as they do, in the way that they do, and to protect each other they find it easier to keep their distance when others might be watching. 

“It is difficult,” he agrees and leaves it at that. He knows by now that Andromache will not judge them for it; it is both force of habit and a desire to keep it private, like it will somehow be more special if it’s their secret. 

When they get to the rope, Andromache holds it for him to go first and he is grateful that she _does_ know. She understands he wants to get to Nicolo quickly, to reassure him and calm his rage. 

It’s a bloodbath on the top of the wall. There are hacked limbs and blood everywhere. These are brutal deaths, close and personal. Much like when Nicolo would kill him, fueled by the righteous fury of his cause until his faith started to waver. He supposes he should be flattered, that Nicolo would kill as fervently on his behalf as he had for God. 

“He’s like a secret weapon. Always so calm and docile, and then he took out everyone on the wall by himself. Wasn’t sure he had it in him.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” Yusuf mutters. He does not care to see Nicolo lose himself like this; he knows it will haunt him afterwards. Although he would like nothing more than to run after Nicolo, he must take care to watch his step; there are bodies everywhere. 

“I’m impressed. I’m allowed to be impressed. I don’t know that I could have managed this as young as he is.” 

“We’re over a hundred years old.” He’s reached where the wall meets the gate; there is nowhere to go but down into the courtyard, and he sees more of the same there. 

Such butchery… 

“We,” Andromache repeats, her tone teasing. Then she grows serious. “He won’t hurt someone unarmed, right?” 

Yusuf kneels beside a man with an arrow shoved in his throat. One of his eyes is a bloody hole, and there are numerous stab wounds to his torso, arms, and legs. His face is twisted in an awful grimace, and Yusuf knows this man died begging for his life. 

“He won’t hurt the servants,” Yusuf says. “Or the women or the children. I do not know if he will show any mercy to any soldier should he have a weapon, even if he casts it aside.” 

“A man after my own heart.” 

Yusuf wants to argue, to defend Nicolo’s good nature, but Andromache is gone; she jumps down the wall into the courtyard. 

He scratches at his head. There’s dried blood matted there. He doesn’t know if it’s his. 

“You’re the one who killed me, aren’t you?” 

The dead man says nothing.

“I would apologize on his behalf,” Yusuf says as he puts a hand on his shoulder, “but if our circumstances were reversed, I would have likely killed you just the same.”

It is only later, when he finds Nicolo in the dungeon releasing the prisoners they came here to rescue, that he can breathe easily. Nicolo is a bloody terror, a creature of vengeance, beautiful as he is horrible.

“Nicolo,” he says gently. 

“Yusuf.” And then he’s in Yusuf’s arms, trying to burrow into his skin. “Are you alright?” 

“Of course. You should have stayed, you would know.” He presses his nose to Nicolo’s hair. It smells coppery. It’s still wet. It will take him hours to wash Nicolo clean. 

“I’m sorry,” Nicolo whispers. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He pulls away reluctantly to get a better look at Nicolo. He is well and truly a mess, but his eyes are clear. He is with Yusuf; whatever madness overtook him, it is gone. “Let Andromache and Quynh take care of these people while I take care of you.” 

“I don’t deserve—” 

It’s cheating, but he kisses Nicolo to shut him up. It has never failed him yet, and he hopes that even if they spend a thousand years together, it will still continue to work. 

“You deserve far better than me breaking promises and dying on you. Come, let me take care of you.” 

It does not take much convincing for Andromache to wave them off. She sees them there, Yusuf holding Nicolo’s hand and standing protectively in front of him, and rolls her eyes. 

“We can take it from here.” She leans over to look meaningfully at Nicolo. “Clean him up. We can’t go anywhere with him looking like that.”

“Thank you,” Yusuf says with a nod. He feels like a child again when he was being scolded by his mother. He thinks, given how very old Andromache is, the comparison is not inaccurate. 

“Hey,” she says as they walk past, drawing Nicolo’s gaze from the ground. “You did good, Nicolo. A little messy, but good work.” 

He startles slightly, his hand tightening in Yusuf’s grasp. “I do not know if I can call this good work. I am happy that we have saved these people, but I worry my heart was not in the right place.” 

“Your head wasn’t,” she corrects. “I don’t think I can fault your heart in this.” 

Nicolo shrugs; the guilt is already setting in. Yusuf needs to act fast. He drags Nicolo away, knowing there must be a room with a tub somewhere in the castle. If he has to drag water from the river bucket by bucket, he will make sure Nicolo gets a bath. He will do what he can to prove to Nicolo through actions and deeds that he is okay, that Yusuf has not left him yet. 

There are many twists and turns through the castle. He does not find any bed chambers, but he finds the kitchens. There is a large cauldron of water, lukewarm but fresh; it will have to do. 

“You did not wait to see I was okay,” Yusuf scolds. He wets a cloth and works on Nicolo’s face first. It’s such a good face, he wants it to look its best. “You should wait, you know I don’t like to be alone when I wake up.” 

Nicolo stares at the wall. For a while, he doesn’t move, barely blinks as Yusuf works. It isn’t until he’s moved to Nicolo’s neck, the exposed flesh at his collar. 

“I told Andromache to stay with you,” he says. 

“That’s all well and good, but I prefer you, my heart.” 

Another long pause. Yusuf continues to work. He knows there is more to be said, but he won’t push; sometimes Nicolo needs time. 

“I was scared,” Nicolo admits. “I do not like when you are hurt. I like it less when you are killed. Before, it was an annoyance. Someone hurt you, but I knew you would be fine. Now each time you die, each time you’re hurt, it’s a risk.” 

It takes a moment for him to understand. When he does, it makes him abandon the rag so he can instead hold Nicolo’s face. He runs his thumbs along Nicolo’s cheeks. He understands completely.

Finding Andromache and Quynh, it brought them a certain amount of peace. There were others like them out there. They had a purpose, they had help and support and answers… 

And one of those answers was terrible. As awful as an eternity might be, the only thing worse would be an eternity without the other. 

“I am not Lykon,” Yusuf says with all the conviction he can muster. “I would never leave you behind.” 

Nicolo whines. His hands come up to clutch at Yusuf’s wrists. “You cannot know that.” 

“I know that whatever plan God has for us, he brought us together for a reason. He would not tear us apart after all that. It is too much to call it chance that we are here, where we are, together.” 

“Destiny,” Nicolo whispers, like it’s the secret to the universe. 

“Destiny,” Yusuf agrees. “Our fates are intertwined, my love. We died together the first time, I have to believe we will the last time as well.” 

Finally, Nicolo smiles. It’s a gorgeous thing, like the moon on a starless night. 

“I hope you are better at keeping this promise than your other ones.” 

“Are you angry with me?” Yusuf pouts for good measure. 

Nicolo yanks the abandoned rag off the floor and washes his hands off in the water. “You are too handsome for me to stay angry for long, which you well know. Help me wash off so I can work off my excess frustration on you.” 

“With pleasure…”

**Author's Note:**

>  **bonus scene:**  
>  **andy:** why didn't you tell me he was the mean one?  
>  **joe:** nicolo is an angel! he is not mean! he is the kindest, most gentle—  
>  **andy:** he used his bare hand to tear someone's eyeball out of their skull because they shot his immortal lover with an arrow that wouldn't permanently hurt him anyway  
>  **joe, scolding:** nicolo. was that necessary?  
>  **nicolo, uncaring as he finishes his dinner:** i did what i did and i’d do it again  
> 


End file.
